A Romance
by dandylion05
Summary: In the summer before her Seventh Year at school, Freya Hamilton is relentlessly pursued by her estranged childhood friend, Cedric Diggory. What follows is a tale unexpected by either. OCxCedric Diggory
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

My eyes felt heavy and swollen; it was a struggle to force them open. As I did, I flinched against the harsh white light reflecting off of the clinically white walls. My head began to pound and I realised that I was struggling to breathe. I felt as though there was a metal bar constricting my chest, blocking the passage of air to my lungs. Each breath was rasping and drawn out, a fight. I couldn't recall a time I had felt this dazed, this confused.

Pushing myself, with difficulty, up onto my elbows, I looked around and took in my surroundings. I was in the hospital wing, lying in one of many metal framed beds. At the end of the room, one bed had the curtains drawn completely around it. Madam Pomfrey, the matron, and Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, stood outside the curtains, speaking in hushed tones to one another. The late June sunshine threw their concerned features into light.

I didn't understand, as I struggled to breathe, what was going on. Little did I know that this was bliss.

Madam Pomfrey, as if by instinct, turned her head sharply to look at me. I must have looked just about as good as I felt, because her face paled and she began to march briskly over to me. As she paced steadily towards me, I realised that there were tears streaming down my cheeks. Tears which I didn't understand. I lifted my fingers to my face and caught a couple. I watched them trickle down my fingers and was filled with a strange sense of longing that I couldn't place. I was so confused.

Madam Pomfrey was at my side now, reaching a comforting hand out to touch my shoulder. But I was cowering away from her touch, still silently crying, still making an effort to breathe. Strangely terrified, I looked into her wide and panicked eyes, and then into Professor Dumbledore's, for he too was now by my side. And as I stared, piece by piece my memories returned to me, and I stiffened, trying desperately to reject them, yet knowing they were true. I was shaking now, my arms readying to give in on me, and Madam Pomfrey was reaching for me again, but it was her turn to flinch away. Her eyes filled with tears and I heard the headmaster mumble something about a sedative, but I was struggling to hear.

And then I realised I was screaming, shrieking, loud and sharp and fierce. The power of it forced the metal bar from my chest. Madam Pomfrey lay her hand on top of mine, and still screeching, I looked down. Three hands lay on the small bump on my abdomen. I faltered, and let out one last little yelp, feeling suddenly faint. The room fogged in front of my eyes and I slumped.

Once again everything was black. Everything was peaceful.


	2. The Beginning

**Chapter One: In the Beginning**

This is not the beginning of my story- or at least, not the beginning of _this_ story. . This tale begins on a warm August morning, nearly a year prior, at the mouth of a tent. The sky was navy blue, the clouds cotton wool puffs, the sun bright and hot. I lay, resting on my elbows with my sunglasses on my head, enjoying the heat of the sunshine on my lips and the thin skin of my eyelids.

Beneath the awning of the tent, my sister sheltered from the harmful UV rays. She frequently _tsked_ at me, in my strappy top and little shorts, soaking up as much sun as I could. A trainee Healer, she was painfully sensible, from her ponytail right down to her no-nonsense shoes. It was for this reason that my father had insisted she accompany me to the World Cup, and it was for this reason that our tent was miles away from most other life forms: out here, we were "far less likely to be robbed and far more likely to be able to get some sleep." Over the past two days I had thrown many a wistful glance at the sea of tents in the distance.

My parents had given me our tickets under the façade of an early birthday present. It was the first time the Quidditch World Cup final had been held in Britain for a _long_ time, and everyone was, understandably, very excited. However, I had little interest in Quidditch. I was not, as such, athletic and failed to entirely grasp the complex rules. Chelsea, on the other hand, was Quidditch crazy. She had been captain of the Ravenclaw squad two years in a row at school, and she went to professional matches with her sensible, stable boyfriend, Giles, almost every week. She was in her element at being able to see the final. There was no mistaking the fact that my birthday present had been for her.

And yet, I couldn't find it in my heart to be truly jealous of her. Sure, it was my seventeenth birthday and I had been hoping for something special. But I had also just spent weeks cooped up in my house, never straying further than the village shop. It felt great to be away from my house. Truth be told, I wasn't even bothered that we were camping so far away from everyone else. My close friends weren't coming, and Chelsea wasn't _such_ awful company. She knew lots of interesting, if slightly random, things, and she was only too aware of the pains of a summer spent in our home. She had been through it herself after all. Out here in the open air I could feel the relief of home pressures; the constant watch of my overprotective father, the strain to always be on my best behaviour, the pressure to make a decision about the direction I wanted my life to take.

It was easy to be optimistic dozing in the sun, even if it went against every naturally pessimistic bone in my body. I could feel my normally pale skin tanning, my already blonde hair lightening, the excitement of the match approaching. I had received a sulky letter from my best friend, Silkie, detailing the punishment she had received for one incident of drunken behaviour two weeks previously and I felt smug that for once my life was more exciting than hers. Childish though it was, the role reversal felt strangely satisfying. She was grounded and I was pretty much free.

"Oh!" Chelsea exclaimed, agilely springing to her feet, "Newcomers!"

I opened my eyes and squinted into the distance, shielding my face from the blinding sunshine with my hand . Chelsea sighed and brushed her hand over the top of my head knocking my sunglasses, with considerable force, onto the bridge of my nose. As I rubbed my nose, I watched the two newcomers approach. There was a man and a younger boy, from what I could make out. Both wore sensible clothes; jeans and light jackets. They carried rucksacks on their backs and were exactly the sort of thing Chelsea greatly approved of. The older man even had a sensible hat to protect his face from the evil sun. As they came closer, Chelsea seemed to recognise them. She clasped her hands together and started to walk towards them, her ponytail swishing at the back of her neck as she did so.

"Freya," she whispered harshly at me over her shoulder.

I was supposed to follow her, I knew, but I was far too comfortable where I sat and pretended not to hear. She whispered again, louder this time. I sunk down to the ground, nudging my sunglasses back to the top of my head and sliding the straps of my top off my shoulders to avoid getting a tan line. I could vaguely hear her greet the newbies. I thought I even heard her apologise about me being such a lazy teenager. This, I thought, was rather uncalled for. She was still only nineteen, a teenager herself, as much as she liked to pretend otherwise.

The conversation got louder, and I could hear footfalls coming our way, gently thumping the grass. Hiking boots, I thought too myself, imagining Chelsea's glee at finding people who shared her ideas of sensibility. I received rather a shock when I was violently yanked to my feet.

As I was forced up, I tripped over my ankle, causing an ungainly crunch, and my sunglasses half fell back down from my head. Chelsea slightly dug her nails into my shoulder, reprimanding me for my rudeness, and smiled through gritted teeth at her new friends.

"Freya," she said, forced cheeriness in her tone, "You remember Mr Diggory, don't you?"

I looked up into the wide eyed, smiling face of my father's old friend, slightly alarmed by the extreme rosy colour which spread from his round cheeks to his nose. Embarrassed, I tried to pull my loose straps back over my shoulders.

"Yeah," I said, pulling my sunglasses free from my hair, "Hi."

After extricating my sunglasses, I patted my hair and was alarmed to feel quite a large amount of grass stuck in it. I started to vaguely pull at it as Mr Diggory told me how grown up I was. _Good_, I thought, _you haven't seen me since I was eleven_. I internally flinched at the memory of my eleven year old self, complete with squint teeth and short bob: not exactly my best look.

"And, of course," Chelsea continued, her nails still stuck in my shoulder; surely, by now, drawing blood, "You're still at school with Cedric."

My eyes ventured over to the younger of the two newcomers, annoyed that I hadn't immediately noticed or remembered. The tall, beautiful and obnoxious form of Cedric Diggory stood in front of me. The resident _pretty-boy_ of my year, I had watched him soar to popularity in third year, when girls had first started to notice his good looks. I had known him before that, when he had been slightly chubby and shared my squint toothed affliction. I had barely spoken to him in years, we all but ignored each other these days. He was smiling at me now, or more likely laughing, as I rolled my pained and swelling ankle and tried to pick bits of grass from my hair. My chest filled with a familiar sense of loathing and I could feel my eyes somewhat narrow.

"Hey there, Freya," he said, chuckling slightly.

So he was laughing. Well, I'd teach him to laugh at me.

"Hi," I smiled my most false, most scathing smile, noticeably flinching as I moved my weight back onto my injured ankle. He rolled his eyes. I felt ready to pounce on him, standing there all stupid and smug and pain-free. Optimism now gone, I felt the once liberating and exciting trip becoming less desirable by the second, marred by the arrival of someone I would much rather avoid. My jaw set with my sudden sullenness.

And that's how it began. On the outskirts of a campsite in the English countryside, a boy laughed at a girl with grass in her hair and an injured ankle. Neither expected what was to follow. Nor did they expect it was the beginning of the end.


	3. Ten Things I Hate About Butter Beer

**A/N: **I realise that these are fairly short chapters I'm posting, but I promise longer ones are coming! As this story is still just a baby, I would love to know what you think so far!

Dandylion05x

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**Chapter Two: Ten Things I Hate About Butter Beer**

I didn't help to assemble their tent, the Diggorys that is. I could hear Chelsea muttering something about manners being priceless and I did feel a little bad, but it wasn't just that I didn't want to help- and I didn't- but I couldn't. My ankle was too painful to stand on. I'm sure it seemed like I was being over-dramatic, but it was actually really sore! What's more, they didn't really need my help. It doesn't exactly take four people to erect a tent.

Instead, I lay back down on the warming grass and tried to regain some of my previous bliss. Of course, everything was marred now. I no longer found futile pleasure in the red glow seeping through my eye lids. Now it was a source of irritation that only disappeared when I flopped my arm over my face, and that would cause a tan-line. I would be that girl with a hand-shape on her face rather than that girl who has a nice tan. The grass was tickling my skin, another constant annoyance, and I found myself longing to return to the prison sentence that was the summer holidays back home.

Peeping through my eyelashes, I saw that the Diggory's tent was sitting right next to ours. Chelsea and Mr Diggory were standing between the two, probably comparing sensible aspects with each other, and Cedric was lifting a cool box out of the tent's interior. _Please leave me alone_, I silently begged him, pressing my eyes shut once more and feigning sleep.

There was a dull thud as the cool box hit the ground beside my head. I cursed my horrid luck. It was followed by a smaller thump, the sound of Cedric sitting down. The aggravation of the blood orange light reflected through my closed eyelids, the tickling grass, the sensible swish of Chelsea's pony-tail, were all over-shadowed by the presence of Cedric Diggory.

"Freya?"

I still remembered the last time we had spoken. It was after his first Quidditch match, in our third year at Hogwarts. He had practiced all summer, he was absolutely desperate to make the team. When he returned to school, his baby-fat had melted away, his mother had fixed his teeth, and he had made the team. I was happy for him, happy when he won- even though the match was against _my_ house! I went up to congratulate him and subsequently get my invitation to the victory party in the Hufflepuff common room. But he had been surrounded by popular fifth and sixth years and a gaggle of pretty girls. He didn't sound like he wanted to talk to me and he hadn't invited me to the party.

"Are we still on for Hogsmeade next weekend?" I called after him as he began to walk away.

"I don't think so," he had laughed, and his 'friends' had laughed with him.

I would be lying if I said it still hurt. It was years ago and it's not like I didn't have other friends. I had Silkie, and she had a big enough personality to compensate for the loss of Cedric and then some- but more of that later. What mattered to me was that Cedric had become a horrible, selfish person, capable of crushing a little girl's feelings into dust. I didn't want to have anything to do with someone that cruel.

"Freya?"

"What?" I didn't even open my eyes. _Go away!_ I screamed inside my head, _go away, go away, go away!_

"Do you want a butter beer?" he asked, ignoring the exceptionally rude tone of my voice.

"No, thank you," I replied with the same blunt edge to my voice, eyes still pressed shut.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice still light.

I opened my eyes at that and peered to the side, taking in the way he sat, staring at me strangely.

"What?" I asked again, my eyebrows narrowing.

"Why don't you want a butter beer?"

"Do I need a reason?" I asked, sitting up a bit now. He was smirking, that's what the strange look was, a smirk!

"I'm just interested to know, that's all," I sank back down, deciding to just ignore him completely. "I mean, is it just because you don't like me or-"

"That is so unbelievably vain!" I was sitting up again like a shot, decision be damned, incredulous at his self-centeredness. "Is it so hard to believe I just don't want a sodding butter beer?"

"Yes," the smirk was bigger now, "It is, actually, until you tell me why."

God, he was infuriating!

"I don't like butter beer," I told him evenly. It was the truth.

"You don't like butter beer!" It was Cedric's turn to be incredulous, "It's the best drink ever! It's impossible to not like it!"

I rolled my eyes, used to this reaction in people.

"What don't you like about it?"

"Everything."

"Be specific."

"No."

"Freya, come on, you can't just say something like "I don't like butter beer" and then not explain yourself!" I wasn't sure if he was still winding me up or not. It had never been easy to tell with him.

"Can't I?"

"No!" he exclaimed.

_Too bad, pretty boy_, I thought to myself, turning to stare into the distance, imagining all the places I could hide from him if a) Chelsea had let us camp with the rest of civilisation and b) I was able to walk.

"I'm not going to stop pestering you until you tell me!"

"I can deal with that," I told him.

There was a shuffling sound, then- the sound of him leaving, I was sure. I let a small, satisfied smile play on my lips as I watched smoke billowing from tent-chimneys and children playing on toy brooms. Then there was another thump. I turned around then, and jumped with fright. He was mere inches away from me, a stupid grin on his stupid face. He hadn't left at all. Hand on my heart I turned back to looking at the campsite.

"It is just me, isn't it?" he said then, and I felt all my irritation, annoyance and fury bubbling in the pit of my stomach and working its way slowly up to my throat. He couldn't honestly believe that I wasn't drinking butter beer just because I didn't like him.

"Do you know what, Cedric?" I asked, turning around then, "It's lots of things. I think it is wrong to make a _drink_ out of butter. Butter is not supposed to be drunk. You put it on toast and in cakes. Another thing, butter is a fat; fat is bad for you. I don't like the texture. It's too thick. It's too sickly. It smells funny. The bottle tops hurt my fingers. I hate that there are little bits left at the bottom of the bottle once it's finished. I can't stand the way it smells if a bottle's been left open over night. And, yeah, right now, the fact that you like it makes me hate it just a touch more. But only because you are so supremely annoying!"

Just to add to the aggravation of my morning, he smiled in satisfaction! I could have smacked him in the face, I was so mad! He pulled out his wand then and pointed it at my throbbing, swelling ankle and said some spell I had never learned. The pain instantly ebbed and the swelling began to subside before my eyes. My mouth fell open in what I can only imagine was a very unattractive way.

"I think you need to chill out a bit, Freya," he told me, patting me on the shoulder, "See you later."

He really did leave then, and he took his stupid, horrid butter beers with him, carrying the heavy cool box with apparent ease. Chelsea replaced him in a flash, her eyes sparkling.

"What's going on with you two?" she asked excitedly, "Do you like him?"

"Don't be stupid, Chelsea," I snapped, lying back down on the grass, desperate to be left alone.

"Well he definitely likes you, even after the "ten things I hate about butter-beer" speech," she said in a whisper, although I was trying not to listen, "he still can't take his eyes off of you!"

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**Reviews are received with love!**


	4. Too Much Excitement

**A/N:** Sorry about the huge gap between updates. This one took a loooooong time to write, but to compensate it is really, really big! A big thank you to Placebo and Vampire Weekend who substituted for Dizzee Rascal (my hero) on this chapter- he was just making me too excited to focus! Hope you enjoy!

Dandylionx

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**Chapter Three: Too Much Excitement**

As the sun began to set an emerald glaze formed across the top of the forest which lay at the far side of the campsite. The green of the trees seemed to stretch up into the orange-pink sky and create the beginnings of a giant, thick-set rainbow. As the sky darkened to a purplish midnight blue, a thousand tiny lights began to move into the forest, glittering amongst the dense tree-trunks. Never in my life had anything felt more like magic!

Chelsea packed a bag with everything we could possibly need- from thick aaron sweaters to little hand-held fans. I was buzzing with excitement to leave the tent and infuriated to watch Chelsea as she checked and re-checked her backpack and re-tied her ponytail. After what seemed like a life time she turned to me with an equally excited grin and said, "lets go then." It was as though I had been the hold up. I could have killed her, probably, but instead I slunk my arm through hers and pulled her out the tent before she could remember about casting protective spells or other such nonsense.

Outside, to my infinite dismay, the Diggorys had waited for us. I smiled at Mr Diggory and grudgingly muttered a reply to Cedric's "how's your ankle now, Freya?" I was petulantly upset that it was completely healed. There wasn't so much as a twinge when I walked. If I had been willing to, I might have believed it was in better condition now that in had been before my clumsy stumble this morning. However, I had never been more unwilling to believe anything. The words _smug_ and _bastard_ floated idly through my mind.

Fortunately, I was saved from the trauma of conversation with Cedric by my sister- she was good for some things, I'd give her that. She chattered away at a million miles an hour about defence techniques and known strategies used by the respective teams of tonight's much anticipated match. Most of it went straight over my head but it was a marvel to watch her mouth move so quickly. Chelsea Hamilton: one of the seven wonders of the modern world!

In no time at all it seemed we had crossed the wide expanse of the campsite and were breaking the threshold of the forest. Chelsea had packed a compass so that we wouldn't get lost in the trees, but it was made redundant by the little, lantern lined paths guiding the way to the stadium. Chelsea gripped me tighter; we were close now. The air was electric and it was impossible not to feel the excitement emanating from the hundreds upon hundreds of witches and wizards from all over the world.

And then, just when I was sure I could never be any more spellbound, the stadium came into sight. Gigantic, gold and sparkling, it reached up above the treetops into the night time clouds. It's curves were seamless and it glowed seductively, calling us forwards into its depths. I let out a long breath of air in admiration and turned to Chelsea, whose jaw was gaping open.

"I guess this is where we leave you then," I said, turning away from my stunned sister to the Diggorys, feigning disappointment, "Enjoy the game."

They looked confused. I didn't want to be patronising and explain to them about the allocated seats so I just started to tug Chelsea in the direction of the stadium entrance.

"Em, Freya?" Cedric called and I turned around, with difficulty, "Our seats are beside each other. Our dad's bought the tickets at the same time."

My heart audibly dropped in my chest. The exciting night suddenly turned into an ordeal. Cedric and his father quickly closed the small distance between us and I realised that our travelling group was more permanent than a walk in the woods.

"Did I no mention that?" Chelsea asked, shaking the dazed expression from her face.

_No Chelsea_, I said silently to myself as we all walked into the stadium, 'jolly-good-chums together' as Mr Diggory said, _As a matter of fact you neglected to mention this particular part of the evening_.

Our seats were good and quite high up, which of course meant a long trek up the stairs. Chelsea said it was good exercise, but for someone like me, that is someone inclined to fall over a lot, those stairs were a death trap. Knowing my luck, Cedric would be repairing more than just a twisted ankle.

I got away with a sprained wrist, which Chelsea lazily waved her wand at once we were seated, muttering something about me and stupidity. Cedric sat at my other side, smirking once more. I tried to ignore him, but he was always there, just visible in the very corner of my vision, spoiling my birthday treat.

And then something happened that actually made me forget all about the multiple annoyances of Cedric Diggory. The stadium suddenly became very hushed and a booming voice spoke out from the Minister's box. The game was about to begin.

* * *

The minute the Irish squad flew onto the pitch, Chelsea grabbed my hand into a death grip, cutting off the blood supply to my fingers so that, very slowly, they turned a deep shade of purple. I doubted I had ever seen her so excited. Not when she found out she was a prefect, not when she had become Quidditch captain, not when she got straight Os in her NEWTs, not even when she was accepted into Healer Training at St Mungoes Wizarding Hospital. And each and every time she had achieved one of her many great ambitions she had, I thought, reached a new human-capacity for excitement. Once again she was surprising me, at the price of the use of my left hand.

It was true, the game was very exciting. The atmosphere of the stadium buzzed in anticipation of every goal, of every swerve. The flash of coloured robes and shiny brooms was startling to behold. Never before had I witnessed anything so quick, so succinct. It was a real shame that I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Chelsea frequently called out, with the support of roughly half the stadium, in triumph or hostility depending on the circumstances. Her eyes followed everything with a wealth of understanding and she often nodded with approval at some of the Irish team's tactics. I was so glad that she was having the time of her life, even if she usually was a massive pain. She was my sister and she worked unbelievably hard: she deserved this. I was just slightly sad that I couldn't share her understanding, but it was pointless dwelling on it. My brain didn't work in the same way. I was inherently different.

"Look at Krum," a whisper to my right tickled my ear.

I turned and looked in confusion at Cedric. He smiled lop-sidedly at me and pointed at the pitch. My eyes followed his directions to the Bulgarian Seeker, the famous Viktor Krum. He was swerving downwards, arm outstretched. I gasped; he was going for the snitch, the match was going to end, Bulgaria would win. I threw a fast, cautious look at Chelsea, who didn't seem to have noticed. I would never hear the end of this, if the Bulgarians won, she was be full of spite and bitterness and conspiracy theories until the end of time.

"He's feinting," Cedric whispered as the Irish Seeker swerved after Krum, speeding to his side.

"What?" I asked, looking back at Cedric for half a moment, scared to miss the crucial point of the match.

"He's faking it," Cedric explained and then pointed to the other side of the pitch, high up in the sky, where something glistened.

I turned back to Krum, chasing thin air, and then back to the glinting, unidentified object fluttering in the sky. Chelsea was now on the edge of her seat, clenching the railing in front of her instead of my hand. I looked back at Cedric, who was still grinning, and realised that I was the one in the know now, I had the understanding. And for some reason I found the situation hilarious. I snorted with laughter and clasped my hand to my face to mask my sudden fit of giggles as Krum pulled out of his dive and the Irish Seeker crashed his broom. And Cedric was laughing with me. Chelsea glowered back at us, incensed by what had happened and muttering about unfair tactics, and for some reason that made it all the more hilarious.

"Wow," I said, calming down, "That was…hilarious!"

"I know," Cedric agreed, shaking his head, "I know."

And so, for the rest of the match I was no longer merely dazed by the pretty colours zooming around the pitch at unreal speeds. Instead I was just a clued in as my sister, the Quidditch whizz. Cedric pointed out everything, and managed to do so in only a vaguely patronising way!

However, vaguely patronising is patronising nonetheless. So I still struggled to suppress the urge to push him over the side of the barrier and let the chips fall where they may, as it were.

* * *

The end of the match was bizarre. Viktor Krum caught the snitch (not entirely surprising after the knock to the head the Irish Seeker took, to be completely honest,) and yet Ireland won. Chelsea was, of course, ecstatic, though she did still find time to bitterly comment that Ireland would have caught the snitch had Krum not 'violently injured' their Seeker. I didn't see any point in reminding her that Krum hadn't actually physically touched his opponent. I didn't want to be facetious, or incur her wrath!

It took a long time to make our way down the evil, steep, high-up, clumsy-people-hating stairs. Chelsea was, of course, delighted. She had time to discuss every single moment of the match in minute detail with each of our party, one at a time. This included me and I became rather spiteful of Cedric's help. Normally my sister's voice is especially easy to drown out, as ordinarily she is talking about things I know little to nothing about. However, now I recognised the things she spoke of and her words made some sense. I couldn't zone out and think about something else, pretend to be anywhere else and I was subjected to fifteen to twenty minutes of intense discussion about Quidditch. I glowered at Cedric and he looked a little taken aback. _Serves you right, you bastard!_ I thought, hoping by some dark magic he could hear my thoughts, _I'm onto you, there's no place to hide now!_

He didn't send me a reply.

Eventually we reached the bottom of the stairs and were set free of the stadium. I was a little sad to say goodbye to it and all it's beauty, but at the same time it was nice to be able to breathe properly and walk on level ground. Chelsea was only half way through her discussion with Mr Diggory and wasn't showing any signs of wrapping up any time soon and I was grudgingly preparing to for her to start all over again with me.

"I'm going to go and visit some of my friends in the middle of the campsite," Cedric stopped and told me, "You know, join the rest of humanity and all that."

"Okay," I shrugged, and turned to catch up with Chelsea before she realised I had disappeared and had an early heart-attack.

"Do you want to come?" he asked.

"Um," I squinted at his face, checking for signs of insincerity, "I don't know, Cedric."

"I won't force any butter beer on you," he smiled and something twisted in my gut, "I swear."

I opened my mouth to snap a comeback but was cut off.

"Freya!" Chelsea screeched, "Thank Merlin! I nearly had a panic attack."

So predictable, always so predictable.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"Why are you loitering back here?" she asked, using her best teacher's vocabulary. You'd never guess she was only nineteen.

"Sorry, Chelsea," Cedric spoke, "It was my fault. I was trying to convince Freya to come and hang out with me and my friends back at the campsite."

"Oh?" Chelsea smiled and patted my shoulder, raising an eyebrow at me, "well, isn't that nice, Freya?"

I stared at her incredulously, sure that she wouldn't actually make me do this. She nudged my ribs.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, "Oh, um, yes, it's very nice."

"Don't stay out too late," Chelsea beamed, "And look after her Cedric, she's so clumsy and no use in an emergency."

"I promise I won't let her out my site Chelsea," Cedric replied as my face smarted.

"Actually, Chelsea, I'm quite tired, I'm not sure I want to go," I interjected but she nudged me again, harder than before. That one would bruise.

"Don't be silly, Freya, it would be rude not to go, I'll see you later," and with that she walked off.

I watched her go, pony-tail swishing, sensible boots thumping on the forest floor. I turned back to Cedric and he was smirking at me once more. It was amazing how one person could have one smile all nice and lopsided and another all irritating and condescending- and how quickly they could switch between them. I honestly couldn't believe the difference that occurred on his face.

"Shall we go?" he asked, offering me his sodding arm.

"Doesn't look like we have much choice, does it?" I muttered, walking past his stupid, extended arm and trudging ahead.

"Freya, wait up!" I could hear him cry from behind me, "You don't know the way!"

* * *

I sat with my arms wrapped around my knees in front of a camp fire. Cedric was sitting perhaps a little too close to me, but it was difficult to tell. In my opinion 5 feet from me was too close, and a dangerous distance for him, so my judgement wasn't, as such, unbiased. But he felt too close. My nose burned in the heat of the flames but I refused to turn away, and instead I sat in complete discomfort, practically able to hear the seconds dripping by.

Cedric's friends seemed nice. They had smiled at me when we first arrived. A couple of them had spoken directly to me and enquired how my holidays were going, which had been considerate. But they weren't my friends, and we didn't have an awful lot to say to each other, and soon I was left all but forgotten at Cedric's side as they sat and chatted and drank my _favourite_ drink. Yes, you guessed it, butter beer.

Cedric offered me one with a smirk and I politely declined. With difficulty.

They smelt rancid in the heat, the butter beers. Worse than any other time I'd ever smelt them and I wrinkled my nose every time I breathed in. One of Cedric's friends- a girl called Penny who was in my Ancient Runes class- gave me a funny, somewhat rude look as I did this, before tossing her thick curls over her shoulder and giggling sickeningly at one of Cedric's jokes.

_Wow,_ I thought, _they deserve each other._

I felt that strange twist in my stomach again and hugged my knees tighter to me.

"Are you okay?" Cedric turned to me and looked actually vaguely concerned. I nodded and tried to pull the corner of my mouth up into a smile. "You're not having a very good time, are you?"

"It's fine," I lied, though I didn't know why. Perhaps so that I didn't look rude in front of his friends.

"We can go," he smiled, "It's getting late."

This wasn't received well by his friends, and there were many cries of "No, Cedric mate, don't go yet!" Strangely, though, he ignored them and got to his feet, offering me a hand up.

"Really, Cedric, I'm fine," I smiled, lying again, "Sit down."

He wavered on his feet for a few moments before sitting back down beside me, closer than before.

"Sorry, we've not really been including you, have we?" he asked, more quietly this time.

"No," I replied, "but it's okay."

But it wasn't. The lies were spilling out of my mouth tonight at a rapid speed. Lies which were making Cedric feel better. I couldn't understand it and it made him all the more irritating to me. My current capacity for irritation rivalled Chelsea's for excitement.

"So…" Cedric said, still in a quiet voice so only I could hear, "What were you thinking about when you were staring into the flames. How easy it would be to push me in?"

"Hah!" I scoffed, "You really are so self-centred. And you under-estimate my creativity. I was actually thinking about how much of a shame it was that your friends were burning the Daily Prophet," I gestured to the curling remains of parchment in the depth of the fire, "I never read today's."

"You read the newspaper?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowing quizzically.

"Usually," I replied, "I like the columns, I like knowing people's opinions. And school's so far away from, well, everything, so it's nice to read the paper and find out what's going on in the real world."

"Really?" He looked…impressed?

"Yup," I shrugged, "There's nothing better in the morning than a slice of toast and a whole page of Rita Skeeter."

"I agree," Cedric said, "Although I hope you don't agree with her!"

"Of course not!" I gasped, pretending to be insulted, "What would be the fun in that?"

"You don't strike me as a current affairs type girl," he said, "You always had your head in the clouds."

I shrugged again, a little weirded out that we had the same morning ritual. Cedric launched straight into a conversation about one of Rita Skeeter's columns from the previous week, directly quoting several passages and then giving two or three reasons why he disagreed with each word. Soon we were arguing over something completely different, entirely unrelated to Rita Skeeter or newspapers, but in the back of my mind something kept going "you have something in common, isn't that strange?" Each time that I rolled my eyes at his arguments I could see Penny over his shoulder, flouncing her hair and pouting, and I felt something like triumph. This day kept getting stranger and stranger.

That was when it fell apart. I was rolling my eyes at some ridiculous thing that Cedric was saying and taking in Penny's surly face when the air filled with the most blood curdling scream. I turned quickly in shock to look over my shoulder and my jaw all but hit the floor. A troop of masked, cloaked and dark figures were marching through the campsite, wands raised. Above their heads floated what appeared to be a family in their pyjamas, spinning with looks of shock on their faces. As they came closer, the family became recognisable as the owners of the campsite, helpless Muggles. I felt bile rise in my throat.

"My God," I heard Cedric say under his breath, "They're Death Eaters!"

Things began to move very fast then. Cedric was barking things at his friends and they were splitting up as I looked around, stunned. This wasn't actually happening, there weren't actually Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. Chelsea had said there had never been more security for anything, ever! Chelsea was never wrong.

Cedric was pulling me to my feet then, and I realised we were too close to the Death Eaters. He dragged me along, weaving through hoards of confused and hysterical people. Red spots flashed in front of my eyes as I panicked and suddenly my sister was at the forefront of my mind. She was way out at the campsite's outskirts. She probably had no idea what was going on. She was very, very vulnerable.

"Cedric!" I shrieked, "Stop! We have to go and get Chelsea!"

He continued to drag me.

"Cedric!" I shrieked again, horrified to find tears slipping out of my eyes and down my cheeks, and pulling against him. "Cedri- Ow!"

I had tripped over a rock and my ankle had made a very loud crunching sound. Searing pain stabbed at it now. Pain that was white hot.

"Shit!" I screeched, "I think I've broken it!"

Cedric looked over my shoulder and some of the colour drained from his flushed cheeks. I didn't dare follow his gaze. Fear gripped at my bones. I couldn't believe it. There were Death Eaters- _Death Eaters_- in our camp, my ankle was broken, and, from the look on Cedric's face, they were coming right at us. The tears were flowing now.

A look of complete focus came over Cedric's face and in one seamless movement he had scooped me from the ground. I grabbed hold of his neck in horror and shrieked as he started to run. The forest came closer and closer as I bumped up and down in his arms. His footfalls were heavy on the ground and I knew he would be able to move faster on his own, without my additional weight, but he ignored my loud and never ending string of protests. We broke into the cover of the trees, but he didn't stop running. The pain in my ankle was getting worse and I was far too afraid to look behind us, though there was no logical reason why the Death Eaters would have followed us, two half-blood teenagers, into the woods.

We came to a stop and Cedric settled me on the ground. I was still crying, but they were silent tears now. I looked at our surroundings, shocked, dazed. Everything was happened so suddenly there hadn't been time to take any of it in. My ankle twinged and I cringed at the pain. Cedric sat opposite me, panting. As I recoiled from the pain he looked up at me in concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked, crawling across to me with some effort, "How bad is your ankle?"

"Bad," I said through gritted teeth, "Sore."

"Can I see?" he asked. I nodded and looked away. He took my leg and rolled up my jeans. I heard him gasp. "I can't fix this," he said, "We'll need to wait to see Chelsea."

"Well let's go then!" I said, facing away from him. I did not want to see the damage.

"No way!" he spoke firmly, "We are not going anyplace until I know it's safe!"

"Cedric!"

"Protest all you like, Freya. But you're injured and that makes you my responsibility." I didn't like the sound of that, "Chelsea would rather have you back a little bit broken than not have you back at all!"

"Stop treating me like a baby, or some damsel in distress!" I snapped, flinching in pain once more, "Chelsea said that this event had _the _most security she had ever heard of."

"She was right," Cedric nodded.

"Well then, everything has probably been taken care of by now!"

"Freya," he was using his patronising, explaining voice again, "If this event had all that security, how do you think the Death Eaters got in?"

I didn't have an answer.

"They're on the inside," he said, and I felt a new wave of panic coming on.

"Chelsea could still be in danger!" I cried, fresh tears dripping from my eyes.

"Chelsea can look after herself," Cedric said, "Complain all you want, Freya, we are staying here."

I crossed my arms across my chest and turned firmly away from him, tears running down my cheeks and my mouth set in a massive pout. It was the middle of the night, my ankle was broken, and I was stuck in the middle of the woods, hiding from dark wizards with Cedric Diggory. There was an explosion, like that of a firework in the sky and I looked up to see the symbol recognisable as the Dark Mark forming above us. A giant skull with a serpent spilling from the jaw.

"Thank you for getting me out of there," I said grudgingly.

"That's alright," Cedric replied.

It was then that I broke down and began to shamelessly sob.

* * *

**As usual, reviews are received with love.**


	5. Birthday Wishes

**A/N: **Sorry that this chapter is a bit late, it took a little longer to finish and to edit than I realised. But as a little apology, this is nice and long!

Enjoy x

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**Chapter Four: Birthday Wishes**

The sun was still burning in the sky, even though the evening had set in. The light in summer was always strange to me. I had very firm ideas about what times of the day should be in light and what should be in dark, and summer evenings confused this. As I looked in the full length mirror, my nose wrinkled, the same way most girls' noses wrinkle at the sight of their reflection. No matter how much I tried, I could never make my hair sit the way I wanted it to, and the white chiffon of my dress was washing me out.

I gave a little huff and adjusted the sash around the empire line of my dress and rearranged the fussy necklace: an additional gift from my parents. It was very pretty but not really to my tastes. _Seventeen_, I sighed, _and quite possibly the youngest in my year, but _Seventeen!

Downstairs I could hear the sounds of idle chit-chat. The guests had started to arrive. I stuck one last pin in my hair and hurried away from my reflection, forever imperfect, and out of the bedroom. I scurried along the hallway and down the staircase- holding onto the banister to avoid any further injuries this week- and almost knocked Chelsea over at the bottom.

"Watch out!" she laughed, "I was just coming to find you. How's the ankle doing?"

I grimaced. It was fine, of course, but the memory of the intense pain was still raw and painful in my mind. And, of course, that one image of my foot pointing in an unnatural direction, I doubted I'd ever be able to forget that.

"You know that it's alright," I rolled my eyes, "You were the one who fixed it. It was fine then and it's fine now."

"You really ought to be more careful, you know?" Chelsea shook her head at me.

I raised a sarcastic eyebrow at her. Here she was, scolding me, when two days previously she had been in tears with worry, absolutely beside herself. Cedric had carried me back to our tents at first light, and you could hear Chelsea's wails from quite a distance away. But she had been so understanding as Cedric explained everything. Of course, I was only picking up about a quarter of what was being said- I was delirious with pain and I'd fainted at the sight of…well I'm sure you can guess! Yes, two days ago she had pulled me onto her lap and sobbed into my hair, "oh, darling, my poor, poor darling!" Completely overdramatic but quite touching, really.

Chelsea grabbed my arm and steered me into what my father called the _reception room_ so as not to flaunt the family affluence but what is rightly entitled the _ballroom_. It was already filling up nicely and the bulk of the guests were yet to arrive. I knew this because it was the same people- Ministry high-fliers, carefully placed contacts in the media, hospital and banking system, as well as a few of my father's life long friends- that were normally here. Chelsea dubbed them _the usual suspects_, which she thought was quite hilarious. She was, however, on her own with that.

"Here she is!" I heard my father's booming voice, "The birthday girl!"

And I was passed from Chelsea's grip to his. This was the one day of the year that I was the favourite daughter, the one day of the year that I wasn't pestered about making serious life choices and being more like Chelsea. And all because the day I was born happened to be the perfect time of the year for a massive party. I wasn't spiteful about Chelsea's supremacy over me, because God knows she'd earned it. I was, however, annoyed about having to be the centre of attention. I hated having envelopes with an embarrassing amount of gold in them passed to me by men I barely knew. I hated having someone watching me at all times, it made my inherent clumsiness so much more embarrassing. And I hated the stupid dresses that I had to wear, because it was _appropriate_. The whole evening made my stomach churn.

"Oooh! Freya," Chelsea took me back from Dad, who was secreting two heavy envelopes beneath his waistcoat, "Look whose here!"

She pointed over to the reception room entrance and my jaw dropped open a good few inches.

"You have got to be kidding me!" I hissed in her ear, "He never shows up! _Ever!_"

"He likes you, I told you," Chelsea sounded smug. I nipped the back of her arm. "Ouch! Let's not be rude, let's go say hello."

And she was dragging me across the room, smiling widely and greeting people as she did. Her nails dug into my skin and I stumbled as she dragged me.

"Mr and Mrs Diggory!" she cried, "How lovely to see you, so glad you made it. And you brought Cedric! Excellent. Silkie couldn't make it this year, so at least now Freya will have one of her friends here."

I struggled not to roll my eyes at that comment.

"Oh, no Silkie?" Mr Diggory sounded disappointed, "But she's such a laugh, isn't she dear?"

"Happy Birthday, Freya!" Cedric said, sounding less than sincere and smirking away at me.

"Thank you," I replied stiffly, "I'm surprised to see you actually, you don't usually come to these…_things_."

He shrugged. "What can I say? I had no better offers this year."

I forced what was supposed to be a polite smile but what was more like a grimace and I felt my gut twist with that mixture of annoyance and something else. Something which I couldn't place. It was on the tip of my tongue, the periphery of my mind, dancing lithely, just out of reach.

We walked together, silently, into the reception room. It was a gorgeous room with oak floors and marble panelling on the wall, inlaid with intricate gold leaf etchings. A grand chandelier, twinkling and glittering in the last of the sunlight hung in the very centre of the room, blossoming with crystal droplets. Along one wall there was a buffet table covered in delicious homemade food. My mother had slaved for days over it, and even now stood at the very end, an apron over her new silk dress, piping the final bits of icing onto the enormous birthday cake- my enormous birthday cake.

People stood every place, forming tiny subgroups for fifteen to twenty minute slots, before moving on. It was like speed dating for socialites. The women wore fantastic gowns and sets of opulent and colourful dress robes. The men's dress robes were smooth and shiny with newness, their shirts crisp, their hair neat. Chelsea was standing talking to the Minister of Magic's wife, wearing a set of mint green dress robes and holding onto Giles like he might try and escape.

Cedric and I stood on the outskirts, taking it all in. It was the same every year and it still astonished me every time it came around. Sure enough, the people were older now. Their faces lined and their hair greying- well the men at least. The women had vast amounts of cosmetics to their advantage, and some of them wore thick layers of make-up to hide their withering skin.

Even in my chiffon dress and my necklace, with my hair curled and a touch of lipstick on, I still felt out of place. I felt like I looked out of place, as well. I was young and pale and pessimistic and I stood out. I turned to Cedric. He was wearing jeans and an open-collared shirt with some kind of blazer. His hair was scruffy, but in a meant sort of way. _Show off!_ I thought with scorn

"Wow," he said, "it's not changed much."

"Nope," I agreed, looking around the room again and grimacing as Chelsea winked at me.

"So, listen," Cedric said, pulling me off to the side. I was sure my arm was going to come loose quite soon. "I've decided how you could repay me."

"Excuse me?" I asked, my eyes narrowing, "Repay you for what, exactly?"

"For telling you all that Quidditch stuff at the match, so that you weren't confused," he said. I scoffed by way of reply. He wasn't finished. "And for saving your life."

"For saving my life?" I laughed, "Cedric, you broke my ankle!"

"No, you broke your ankle, if I remember correctly," he pointed out, "Did I get this wrong, or were you the one trying to run in the direction of the Death Eaters?"

I crossed my arms and pursed my lips. Reluctantly, I admitted to myself that the man had a point.

"I said thank you for that, though," I said, clutching at straws, "and you said, 'that's alright,' or something. You never said anything about repayment. I didn't realise that there was a price on saving my life. If I had, I might have told you not to bother, to go and save someone else!"

"Freya?"

My head snapped round, I was sure I was mistaking myself. It couldn't have been the voice I thought it was, she wasn't here, wasn't coming. But sure enough, striding towards me was my best friend in the entire world, hair falling down her back, eyes surrounded in black eyeliner and wearing…leather trousers?

"Silkie, what the-"

"Don't talk," she said holding up her hand and closing her eyes to show me that she was sincere, "listen. I am having a total crisis and I need you. You and only you. You are like a sister to me, Freya, but I swear to Lucifer I will disown you if you do not help me!"

She opened her eyes then so that she could see me nod bewilderedly. And then she saw Cedric.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she asked, manners and subtlety not being her strong points.

"I was invited," Cedric shrugged.

"You're invited every year but you never show up!" Silkie looked affronted by his presence. It was my turn to do the grabbing. I got hold of her and started to tug.

"Nice to see you too, Silkie!" Cedric called, that stupid, amused tone in his voice.

"Oh good!" I heard Mr Diggory call, "Silkie's here, now the party can really start!"

* * *

I got Silkie to my bedroom and she immediately went to my wardrobe and started to rake. I sat down on my bed and watched her in bewilderment. As was usual with anything she did, no satisfying explanation had been offered. She operated on a different frequency to everyone else, her mind missing out several crucial steps in every task she did. You should have seen her in potions- she actually amazed Professor Snape with her thought process- and not in a good way.

"What were you doing with Diggory?" she asked, chucking a couple of halter tops onto my lap.

"He was just winding me up," I sighed, "it's become sort of a hobby of his."

"Since when?" she turned around a narrowed her eyes at me.

"Well he was camping beside us at the World Cup, so then I suppose," she pursed her lips and regarded me for a few moments and then turned around and continued to rummage.

"Ah!" she cried, "Found them!"

She turned around and chucked a pair of jeans- skin tight, dark blue denim- onto the bed beside me. She then proceeded to begin shimmying out of her leather trousers. With difficulty she began pulling on the jeans- _my _jeans. I have quite narrow hips, while Silkie is a proper woman complete with proper curves. The jeans, therefore, were narrow enough to fit me snugly and a little on the small side for Silkie. She relentlessly pursued putting them on, and ended up lying on the ground, tugging them up centimetre by centimetre, muttering "_fuck_," under her breath every two or three seconds.

I rested my chin in my palm and watched her, suppressing the urge to giggle. She took a deep breath in, sucking her stomach far under her ribs and in one strong, swift movement, buttoned the jeans. She exhaled and lifted a hand to her heart. That was probably the most exercise she had done all year- or at least since she had gotten herself into the leather trousers- and the exertion was clearly too much for her poor heart.

"Are you going to explain now?" I asked her as she sat up, panting.

"About what?" she replied, tossing some wayward locks of hair out of her face.

"About why you turned up here, when you're supposedly grounded, wearing leather trousers, for the sole purpose of ransacking my wardrobe in search of a pair of too-small jeans!"

"Oh, right," she said standing up, as if it had suddenly slipped her mind. I sighed loudly and crossed my arms across my chest impatiently, though I'm not sure why. It wasn't as though I was suddenly desperate to go back downstairs and watch my father brown-nose all those Ministry people in his best velvet smoking jacket.

"Christ, Freya," she continued, shaking her head "calm down. Listen, I know that these parties are dull for you without me, and I wasn't just skiving off, I am still grounded- which, if you ask me, is ridiculous, I'm seventeen now, I'm an adult, I',- anyway, my parents went out for dinner, it's their anniversary or something, and so that meant I had freedom. And it's ages since I've seen Declan, so I thought-"

"Whoa, who is Declan?" I interrupted and she smirked to herself.

"The guy I've been seeing," she smiled, "He's a muggle."

"Riiiight," I could feel my eyes widen and my eyebrows shoot up my head. Always the cynic, me.

"He's great, dead sexy," she smiled to herself, "He rides a motorbike and smokes these cigarette things and gave me his leather jacket." She lifted said leather jacket from the ground and brandished it at me. My eyebrows travelled further north. It had a skull and crossbones motif on it. "Anyway, he's picking me up in about ten minutes and I put on the leather trousers and then realised they were a fashion disaster! So I needed something to wear, something sexy, but I didn't have anything, and then I remembered those jeans you wore last Hogsmeade weekend and I thought _perfect_ so I apparated here and, well, here we are."

"I see."

"I mean, Freya, I'll stay if you want me to, I don't mind," she smiled at me, mistaking my astonishment for hurt.

"Silkie, it's fine, go and hang out with your weirdo boyfriend. I'll be alright on my own," I got up and started to lift my clothes off of the bed and back to the wardrobe.

"Just because he's a muggle doesn't mean he's a weirdo!" she exclaimed defensively, snatching a shiny silvery halter-top off the top of the pile of clothes.

"Of course not, Silkie," I replied patronisingly, "But from your description, he sounds awfully like a weirdo."

"And he's not my boyfriend, you know I don't commit- _hey!_" she narrowed her eyes at me and pursed her lips.

I stuck my tongue out at her, less worked up now, and handed her back the offensive leather trousers.

"Burn these," I told her with sincerity.

"Done," she replied, tugging on the horrific leather jacket, "Right, I'm off. You can explain about _Diggory_ later."

I sounded like a threat as she teetered out of the room, barely able to move in my jeans. But I wasn't scared. There was _nothing_ to explain. Still, no matter how hard I swallowed, I couldn't shake the big lump from my throat.

* * *

I marched back into the reception room and headed straight for the bowl of my mother's famously potent punch. I spooned some into a goblet and then knocked back a huge gulp. My throat stung and my eyes watered. Perhaps alcohol wasn't going to be my saviour from the god-awful party. I huffed loudly and turned around, looking for some other kind of sanctuary. Unfortunately, doing so brought me face to face once again with Cedric. And, of course, he was smirking.

"I don't see what you could possibly be finding funny!" I snapped at him.

"Just you, Freya, only ever you," he replied, pulling that one side of his mouth half way up his face.

"What do you want?" I asked him when he didn't move, but rather just kept on smiling at me.

"I never got to finish what I was saying to you earlier," he said, an unmistakeable twinkle in his grey-blue eyes, "I was…somewhat over-shadowed."

"Yeah, Silkie can be a bit like that," I rolled my eyes, imagining her on the back of those motor-cycles you see speeding down the street, wearing that God awful leather jacket and causing my jeans to split at the seams.

"She doesn't seem to like me much," Cedric laughed.

"Well, you can't always please everybody," I shrugged. He looked offended, which was odd, he had been laughing a second ago. It struck me that maybe his ego was so huge that he had been laughing at the prospect of being disliked, but maybe that was unfair.

"Why doesn't she like me?" His carefree, twinkley tone was gone.

"She doesn't not like you," I said, though I wasn't sure why I was trying to save his feelings, "She doesn't know you. And if anybody can hold a stupid, old grudge, then it is Silkie."

He didn't look quite so pouty after that. In fact he looked quite smug. God, he was so infuriating. I couldn't understand for the life of me why I hadn't just told him Silkie didn't like him because he was an arrogant show off. Believe me, it's what I wanted to say. But for some reason all these comforting words were coming out in their place. I could feel my eyebrows furrow as I searched for their place of origin.

"So, what were you saying to me before?" I asked, shaking my head to try and get rid of the weird feeling I had.

"I was telling you what I want as my repayment," he had definitely perked up now.

"Oh yes," I sighed, "Well, look Cedric, I'm really grateful that I'm not dead, and that, but that night was horrible for me, and I just don't see why I should have to repay you for it. But if it makes you feel any better, next time I'm in mortal danger, you can just leave me behind."

"That's sweet, really," he smirked again, and I dug my nails into my palms to stop myself from clawing his irritating face off, "but that's not the way it works. We're not even."

Silkie could threaten me all she liked and she didn't scare me, but those three little words had me wanting to run for the nearest hills.

"Is that so?" I felt my jaw tighten and my shoulders go stiff.

"Uh-huh."

"So what do you want?" I managed to ask.

"What are you doing on Thursday?" he asked me, his voice weirdly smooth and his eyes rather intense.

"Two days from now?" I asked and he nodded once, "Nothing that I know of," I shrugged.

"No, you're coming out with me," he told me firmly.

"Coming out with you?" My eyebrows shot up to my hairline.

"On a date," Cedric finished. I nearly fell over, I was laughing so much.

"Haha!" I exclaimed once I had regained some composure, "good one, Cedric!"

"I'm not joking, Freya!" he exclaimed, looking at me like I was behaving totally inappropriately.

I raised an eyebrow at him. I knew he couldn't be serious. He wasn't a stupid person- in fact, he was irritatingly smart- so there was no way he could possibly think that I would agree to go out with him. I didn't particularly like him as a _friend _let alone anything more than that. But something in his eyes wasn't right. He didn't really look like he was joking, and he hadn't sounded like he was joking, now I thought about it. I could feel the dawning look of comprehending horror take over my amused expression.

"Oh God, you're not, are you?" I sounded completely horrified, my voice was all weird and alien.

He shook his head and half-smiled.

"I'll pick you up at seven," he told me, ignoring my face and voice.

"No, Cedric, see, I don't think that's a very good idea," I replied, stepping back a little and knocking into the table with the punch bowl.

"Why not?" he enquired.

"I don't want to go!" That was more like it, no more silly, false words coming from my mouth.

"That's a bit rude, Freya," he said, but he didn't seem terribly offended. "Remember, seven o' clock."

And he turned around and walked away, and somehow I didn't see him for the rest of the night. And all the time, I was thinking, _I so preferred it when you were smirking at me._

_

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_

**As usual, reviews are received with love.**


	6. Define Yourself in Three Words or Less

**A/N: **This chapter has been sitting half-formed for what feels like a very long time and I have just finished it in the space of about two and a half hours. Cheesy and indulgent as this story is, it's forming its own special place in my heart and it's easy to get lost in writing it. Hope you enjoy =]

Dandylion05x

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**Chapter Five: Define Yourself in Three Words or Less.**

On Thursday it hit me that I had just days until I was returning to school, and an absolute mountain of homework to complete. In the afternoon I sat down to write a Divination essay on St Agnes Eve and its prophetical history. Being a medieval tradition it had an awfully long history and thus was taking a remarkably long time to write. My wrist ached as I came to my conclusion, and my fingers were covered in smudged black ink.

All I could think about was having a nice, hot bath as I dotted the parchment with a full stop for the final time. Soaking in a roasty tub of water until I looked like a giant prune sounded like the most inviting thing in the world. For as long as I wanted I could simply forget about the three other essays I had still to write and just relax.

It was about this point in my thought process that the doorbell rang.

I trudged over to the door, wiping my ink stained hands down my old, torn jeans- but carefully avoiding my just as old, but far more cherished Weird Sisters t-shirt. Sighing heavily I pulled the door open and audibly groaned as I saw who was standing behind it.

I should have guessed really, shouldn't I? No is not exactly a word _that_ boy understands. But no, I had convinced myself that he wouldn't show up and then happily stopped thinking about it. Sometimes compartmentalisation comes easily to me- generally when I would rather die than think about something…

"Am I early?" Cedric asked, "I could have sworn I was ten minutes late."

"_I didn't think you were actually coming_," my voice strained through my gritted teeth.

"Freya?" I could hear my mother's voice travel through to the entrance hall from the living room, "Who's at the door, dear?"

She floated out of the massive oak doors and down the soft carpeting, smiling in her apron as always. It honestly escapes me how she can be so serene _all_ the time.

"Oh, Cedric, what a nice surprise!" she actually threw her hands in the air, "Charles, we have a visitor!"

I could hear the heavy footfalls of my father coming from his study above us. _Fantastic_, I thought sarcatically, _this is exactly what I need right now_.

"Cedric!" my father exclaimed, "what are you doing here? Twice in one week! Aren't we lucky, Collette? You didn't tell us you were expecting Cedric, Freya."

"I wasn't," I mumbled, but he either didn't hear or chose to ignore me. To be perfectly honest, I expect it was the latter.

"Well, sir," I cringed a little at Cedric's formality, "I was actually coming to take Freya out."

"On a date?" my mother gasped.

"Well, yes, if that's alright?" he looked up in what seemed like a hopeful way at my father.

Dad looked at me, with those all-seeing eyes of his. It was like he was inspecting the molecules my body was made up of. His vision is absolutely meticulous. I thought idly that now might have been a good time for the floor to open beneath my feet and suck me down. Alas, there is no such thing as miracles.

"Why aren't you ready, young lady?" he asked me sternly.

"Well-"

"Never mind, you're wasting more time. Go and clean yourself up!" I stared at him incredulously, "Anyone would think you'd been dragged up, not brought up!"

He looked me dead in the eyes then, like he was trying to communicate telepathically with me. If looks could talk, his would be yelling "disobey me at your mortal peril!" Reluctantly I walked past him and ascended the stairs, deliberately dragging my inky hands up the banister. I was fuming.

Once I was in my room I shut my door firmly behind me. I didn't slam it, as such, but it quite audibly closed. I pressed my back up against it and balled my hands into fists and thumped them, just a little, against the door. I took a few deep breaths and then relaxed, focusing on something other than rage.

It was about then that it struck me that I was actually going on a date. Anger morphed fluidly into panic. _I had never been on a date!_ I had no idea what do, what to say, what to wear! I mean, my date was Cedric, so we'd probably argue instead of actually converse, and I would probably fall over, and he would probably laugh. Was that inappropriate though? Are you supposed to behave differently on a date? Are you morally obligated to flirt and giggle and fiddle with your hair? I wasn't sure I could do that! I was not a giggly, flirty, hair fiddly person. I was a straight to the point, pessimist who was loathe to touch her hair because this one time when I was eleven or twelve I had a nightmare about pulling all my hair out until I was completely bald and now I was scared that if I touched it too much, it would escape my head of its own accord. I wouldn't brush it for about two weeks after that dream, that's how traumatized I was!

My thoughts were speeding through my mind at about a thousand miles an hour, so fast that I wasn't even thinking them all the way through. I was catching a few stray words before swinging down a totally different tangent. I was half-way to the fire place before I realised I was even walking. My hand was in the Floo bucket before I knew where I was going. Within moments the powder was turning red flames green and I was climbing into them.

"Silkie's Bedroom!" I exclaimed, and the fireplace immediately responded to the shorthand command- the only route it had ever travelled.

Never poised, even on good days, I fell out of Silkie's fireplace and onto her hardwood floor. I heard her squeal of fright before I looked up.

"Fuck, Freya!" she cried, brandishing a piece of parchment soaked in dripping wet ink at me, "Just drop in completely unannounced why don't you?"

"Sorry!" I replied, flinching away from the inky parchment in an attempt to save my t-shirt, "Did I ruin your essay?"

"No," she said, pouting, "I'd only written the title…then I started doodling a picture of Dec's motorbike."

I closed my eyes to try and stop myself from rolling them. Silkie's concentration span was notoriously short and she could never be counted on to do any of her homework alone. She needed constant supervision, like some sort of oversized toddler.

"I know that you're rolling your eyes under there!" she moaned.

I peeped out from underneath my lashes but she was smiling. It was safe to look again. Nonchalantly she started to siphon the ink off of her parchment, clearly desperate to see her little drawing of Declan's bicycle again. I dusted the ash off of myself and then settled down on the bed beside her, gnawing my lower lip and tapping my fingers on the bed.

"So…Is this just a random visit? Or is something up?" Silkie asked, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow at me, "'Cus you're kind of fidgety today."

"Right," I didn't know how to explain. She was going to completely jump the gun and just…assume things which weren't true! "You see, the thing is…Well, you know at the World Cup, I mean, I didn't want to- but Chelsea said, and then it all happened so fast and my ankle- and now he wants to be repaid and he said this is it, the only way to be even! And now my dad's giving me death stares and I've never been on a date before! Except for that time I met Rodger Davies in Hogsmeade- but we don't talk about that and it wasn't the same, in any case-"

"Whoa!" Silkie held up her hands, her eyes wide with confusion, and I drew in a much needed breath of air, "Slow down! What you just said, Freya, did-not-make-any-sense. Also, you have broken the sacred promise and cardinal rule of our friendship by mentioning the R-word. Break this down for me. What did you say about the World Cup?"

"He was camping beside us," I said, casting my eyes to the ground.

"Who was?" she pressed, and then- "Oh God, you mean Cedric?!"

"Yes!" I admitted shamefacedly.

"So, what, he asked you out on a date?" I peeped up and she was scrunching up her eyes as she tried to remember what I had said during my rambled monologue, "And what did you say about Chelsea?"

So, I told her. Everything. Every stupid humiliating detail of my recent encounters with Cedric-bloody-Diggory. Silkie was, of course, howling with laughter by the end of it. I actually had to thump her on the back to stop her choking.

"Oh my God!" she cried, "Fuck, Freya, you like Cedric Diggory!"

"I don't!" I whined- not the most becoming thing in the world, nor the most convincing.

"You swore that you would hate him forever!" she cried, collapsing in another fit of hiccupping laughter.

"When I was about twelve!" I retorted, though I immediately regretted it. She was cocking that sodding eyebrow at me suggestively again.

"So you admit it?" she probed.

"Look, this isn't the point!" I reasoned, "The point is that right now Cedric Diggory is in my hallway, or at least somewhere in my house, waiting for me to come down wearing something that is not ink stained jeans so we can go on a date that my father in forcing me into, quite likely on pain of death. And I don't know how to behave!"

It was Silkie's turn to roll her eyes.

"My personal philosophy is tight clothing and a faceful of make-up…and a lot of pouting," she said, "as you are probably aware. But generally I am going out on dates with guys I admit to liking- or at least admit to fancying the pants off of. In your case, I would suggest brushing your hair, washing your face, putting something comfortable but not scabby on and just acting like you normally do."

"How's that?"

"Pessimistic, whiney, generally annoying- ouch!" I issued a smart smack to arm.

Outside there was the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle revving down the street. Silkie was up and at the window in about two seconds flat.

"Is that-"

"It's Dec!" she waved out the window and blew a kiss as the noise came to a stop.

I joined her in looking out of the window, quite curious to catch a glimpse of 'dead sexy' Declan. Silkie had many admirers who where more than admirable themselves, but her own taste was quite…unique. She liked her men older and with what she liked to call 'an edge.' Now at Hogwarts, 'an edge' generally meant any guy who wore his hair a little bit long, his robes a bit baggy, and who could be seen around the school doing one/some/all of the following things: writing weird, messed up poetry complete with indecipherable images and metaphors (my favorite of Silkie's poets was the one who wrote her a poem which called her, in no uncertain terms, a lump of stale cheese. It was supposed to be endearing. Priceless.); listening to wizard death rock on a pirate wireless station- they tended to have greasy hair; applying eyeliner; staring at the whomping willow while contemplating philosophical matters; and/or lastly, getting drunk on Fire whiskey before class. I've never seen Silkie so upset as when the famous Barry Rhodes, a guy two years above me and Silkie and her 'first love' who was so 'edgy' that he could be seen doing all of the afore-mentioned activities regularly, got expelled. She cried for a whole hour before getting distracted by a Quidditch player in our house with an interesting looking earring. (She was sitting on his lap by the end of the night.)

Declan was definitely 'edgy'. He was wearing a red plaid shirt with baggy leather trousers and his scruffy hair fell to his shoulders. His nose looked a bit of an odd shape, even from a distance, and he was staring at Silkie like she's been administering him with love potion. Poor boy, he didn't stand a chance. It was about then that Silkie's father- a fat, balding wizard who was not well known for keeping his feelings, namely his anger, bottled up- emerged from the house, brandishing a Beater's bat at Declan.

"Fuck," Silkie muttered, "Right, piss off before he comes up and gets us both in shit."

I didn't need telling twice. I Flooed home and took her advice.

* * *

Cedric and I walked through town together. The sun was beginning to set, turning the sky bright orange, hot pink and flaming red. Ah pathetic fallacy, I mused to myself, the sky is mirroring my anger. Although now it was more just a mild irritation, and that was mostly because of the way my dad had looked at me as if to say 'behave or you will be punished.' Should anything ever happen that would mean that man could no longer talk, I am safe in the knowledge it wouldn't be an impediment for him in the least.

He was clearly disgruntled at the amount of time I had left my _guest_ alone with them, viewing it as the height of rudeness, particularly because the results of my time away weren't exactly breathtaking. In all fairness to me, once I was back from Silkie's it only took me about ten minutes to get my act together. It was the being at Silkie's which had taken up most of my time. _And_ most of my ten minutes had been spent carefully brushing out my hair (...and searching for bald patches.) I picked a lemon coloured sweater and a jean skirt to wear, casual enough to pop out to the shops in and the first thing to hand in my wardrobe. Like I was going to spend a minute longer agonising about what to wear on a date with Cedric Diggory now that my freak out was over. _Ha!_

"Did you enjoy your birthday party?" Cedric asked, breaking the lovely silence. Damn.

"It was okay," I lied with a shrug. He didn't look particularly convinced. "Those sorts of things are always a bit tedious."

"I know what you mean," he smiled.

"It wasn't all bad though," I didn't want to be in agreement with him, "I made a small fortune, for example." I smiled fondly at the thought of the pile of envelopes stuffed with galleons sitting in my room.

"Every cloud has a silver lining," he spoke the ancient cliché and then lapsed back into quietness.

We were on the edge of town now, strolling towards the winding country road which led past some lovely fields of wild flowers- as well as some really smelly farms. This whole dating thing was a lot less traumatic than I'd expected. And a lot less date-like. We were just going for a totally aimless walk. Although this was a little foreboding; I was likely to trip and graze my knees at any moment.

"What's your favourite flower?" he asked me, gesturing to one of said fields. "Those giant daisy things?"

I shook my head and wrinkled my nose. "No," I replied, "they're a bit too in your face for me. It's like they're showing off, isn't it? 'Ooh look at me, I'm a daisy, but totally massive, so clearly much better!'"

"Yes, I suppose," he replied with a laugh, "What about poppies?"

"Nope," I shook my head again, "Although they're Silkie's favourites. She has just about everyone believing she only settles for those fancy orchids from the Amazon with the petals which change colour, just so her seventeen million boyfriends are buying her the most expensive gifts. But she really likes poppies, and whenever she's actually gotten those posh orchids, she's transfigured them."

"That sounds," he laughed, "like Silkie. But I didn't ask what her favourite was, did I?"

"Oh," I was getting that funny feeling again- you know the irritating one that I can't quite describe and can't quite name? "Daffodils. My favourites are daffodils."

"Why?" he asked, but not in a way that would suggest he didn't agree, or found my choice distasteful, but in a way that made him sound, strangely enough, genuinely interested.

"Because they're quiet," I said almost without thinking, "and they smell nice but not in an obtrusive, overpowering way. They're quiet and simple and classy."

"Like you," Cedric said, smiling this proper, teeth flashing, serious smile at me.

"Um," I replied stupidly, looking at the road in embarrassment, "Well I wouldn't say that, exactly-"

"Well what would you say?" he asked, stopping still now.

"I...don't know," I replied honestly, not sure that I wanted to define myself in three words or less.

"You have to have an opinion about yourself, Freya," he pressed.

"Well what would you say about yourself, then?" I retorted, getting annoyed again.

"I asked first."

"I don't care," I snapped back.

We stood for a moment, staring dead into each other's eyes, challenging each other to say something surprising. And I couldn't help noticing, not for the first time, the gorgeous gray colour of his eyes. I mean, gray isn't a colour that instantly sounds like it would make for attractive eyes. To be honest, it sounds really...bland. But Cedric's eyes were really...nice.

"Well what would you say about me?" Cedric broke the silence once more.

And once more I spoke without really thinking. "You're smug, a bit arrogant but with some sort of underlying insecurities. And," I stopped again and once more was surprised at how...aesthetically pleasing his eyes were.

"And?"

"And you have really nice eyes."

My words hung in the air, silent yet echoing through my mind and, most likely, his over and over. I could feel my cheeks beginning to burn in an interesting shade of fuchsia and once more I cast my eyes to the road.

"Wow, I can't believe I just said that," I muttered.

"Neither can I," said Cedric, and I was almost sure that he was smirking at me again. "Surprising," he stated.

"What?" I looked up.

"I take it back, you aren't like a daffodil. You're too surprising."

He reached out to take my hand, his fingers actually got as far as grazing mine before my mind was shocked back into gear by the tiny electric sparks I felt when he touched me and I flinched away. He looked at me questioningly, and tried again. I took a step back and regarded him with narrow eyes.

"Why did you really ask me to come on this...this _date_ with you, Cedric?" I asked as he opened his lips to say something, determined that I should have the first word. And, when it came to it, the last.

"What do you mean 'why did you _really _ask me?" he asked.

"Stop pretending it's some kind of repayment for services rendered." I snapped, "You weren't going to leave me to be stampeded by sodding Death Eaters, just like I wouldn't have left you. So why did you really ask me?"

"I-"

"Is this some kind of sick practical joke to you?" my voice came out coated with malice, I wanted him to know just what would happen to him if that were the case without expressly having to say it.

"Oh for God's sake, Freya, how old do you think I am? Eleven? I think I'm a little bit passed the point of playing practical jokes on girls. Give me some credit, please!" he seemed really pissed off that I'd suggested that, so I was fairly confident in the knowledge that I was totally wrong.

"Okay then, why?" I pushed on, "If that's not the case give me some explanation!"

"My God, Freya!" he exclaimed, "I thought it was obvious: I like you."

There was a long, ominous pause, and he actually looked quite uncomfortable for once.

"What?" my eyes narrowed, "as in _like-_like?"

He nodded, "as in _like_-like."

"Oh."

That feeling, the irritating one, was expanding in my chest and twisting in my gut. My head felt a little bit dizzy. I looked into his eyes, his really quite lovely eyes, and saw that he was deadly serious. And it was as though I was- pleased? But that couldn't be right. Why on earth would I be pleased at the knowledge that Cedric Diggory, for want of a better phrase, had the hots for me? It couldn't be- no it definitely couldn't be- that I had the hots for him too?

"Take me home now please," I told him, before returning to my favourite pastime of gnawing my poor, abused lower lip.

"Okay," he nodded.

We walked in silence once more. But this time when he took my hand, I didn't say no.

* * *

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	7. Damn, I Think I Do

**A/N: **Sorry about the huge wait between chapters, I've been super busy. Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing (though please don't steal my ocs/plot), as I am not J.K. Rowling (or at least I wasn't last time I checked.)

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**Chapter Six: Damn, I Think I Do.**

"I can't believe it!" Silkie was incredulous, "Cedric Diggory likes you?"

"There's no need to be mean," I teased back half-heartedly, "I'm not totally heinous."

We were fighting our way down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express. One of the strangest summers ever was over and now we were heading back to school for our final year. It was an odd notion. This was it, we were growing up. I didn't feel ready at all. It's funny that I'd spent so much time fantasising about leaving school, and now the end was nigh and I would quite happily have stayed at Hogwarts for the rest of my life. We were nearing the end of the train, and there had been absolutely no free carriages (Silkie had made me promise to wait for her on the platform and proceeded to be really late,) and Silkie wasn't known to share, except for last year when she spied some Seventh Years shotting Fire Whiskey and decided we should join them...But that's another story.

"He actually said, 'Freya Hamilton, I, Cedric Diggory, like you,'?" she asked, yanking open the door of the last compartment where a small group of Fifth Years were huddled together whispering. "Fuck off," Silkie told them, before heaving her trunk into the overhead storage. They tried to protest but Silkie gave them her bitchiest look, and they stomped off in a massive huff. In a couple of years, they would thank her when they pulled the same trick on some other students. Where did they think Silkie got it?

"Did you finish all your essays?" I asked, trying to distract her.

"No, I was too busy having really shit break-up sex with Dec," she flounced her hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes in annoyance, "And don't change the subject. What did you say after he told you?"

"I made him confirm that he was saying he, um, fancied me- I've been obsessing over how to put that. How would you put it- actually I don't want to know," I added quickly, sure that it would be something unbelievably crude.

Her response: "Dec would say "he _digs_ you." But that's because he thinks he's American for some reason. God, I'm well shot of him." She was clearly hung up on her own love life. "So he confirmed that he fancies you- oh you're right, it sounds like something you hear third years saying- and then what?"

I looked away uneasily. For some reason I found relating this whole thing to Silkie extremely embarrassing. I hadn't got it fixed in my own head yet and I liked to have things completely sussed out for myself before I started listening to Silkie's input. I don't know why it was so embarrassing. I was constantly listening to the trials and tribulations of Silkie's love life, but I wasn't quite as carefree as her.

"I asked him to take me home," I replied honestly, plopping into the seat opposite her.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock, "You naughty, naughty girl!"

"No, Silkie, not like that," I groaned, annoyed that I hadn't thought my words through more, "I asked him to walk me home, and then I sort of muttered goodbye and rushed inside and," I took a deep breath and tired to ignore my agonising embarrassment, "and I walked into the door frame."

She jammed her lips shut in an effort not to burst into fits of giggles. I hung my head to hide my shamed face and decided it was probably best to leave out the whole hand holding thing. About a million different things were trying to make themselves heard amidst the crippling confusion in my brain. I couldn't get that ridiculous pleased sensation out of my system every time I thought about Cedric proclaiming his affections for me- no that sounded too Regency, old fashioned- and that was far more often than it should have been. There was obviously a loose connection somewhere in my nervous system, because the message from my head saying "by the way, we don't like that arrogant prat Cedric Diggory," was getting lost in transit and never making its way to the rest of my body.

I leaned my head back against my seat and closed my eyes. It was time to rationalise. Likely as not, once we were back at school he would be too busy being distracted by hoards of lovely looking girls just dying to be his girlfriend and he would forget all about me and then that would be the end of that. But that thought gave me an unpleasant lump in my throat. I turned my head a little and looked out of the window at the scenery rushing past, the fields of flowers, the farms and I was transported back to my stroll with Cedric and, to my express horror, felt a smile twisting on my lips.

When I first heard it, I thought that I was going insane, and his name was just sounding in my head. That was until Silkie nudged me and raised that infuriatingly suggestive eyebrow of hers. One night I would vanish it while she was asleep, and then she's be sorry.

"Hey, Cedric," I heard a girl simper out in the corridor.

"Diggory, my man," Silkie stuck a finger in her mouth and made a gagging sound at that. Boys said the most ridiculous things sometimes.

"He's coming for you," she sniggered and started prodding my side.

"Well _do_ something!" I whined.

The compartment door started to slide open and Silkie bounced up and grabbed hold of it, blocking the view through the gap by flinging herself in front of it and swishing her hair.

"Oh, Cedric, hi!" she said, poorly disguising the fact we'd realised he was coming.

"Hey there Silkie," I heard Cedric reply. Silkie tilted her head, obviously moving to obscure his view as he tried to look inside the compartment. "Can I come in? I wanted to see Freya."

"Oh, I'm suuure you did," she said in the voice that went along with her 'suggestive eyebrow.' I picked up the nearest thing to hand- a pack of exploding snap- and chucked it at her back with some force. "Ouch, fuck!"

"What?" Cedric's voice travelled into the compartment.

"She's not here," Silkie said hurriedly, rubbing her back and trying to ignore the cards exploding behind her.

"Oh, really?"

"Mhmmm," she replied.

"So...where is she? If she's not with you..."

That stumped her. She hadn't really thought that one through.

"She missed the train," she said eventually.

"Really?"

"Yup," she scratched her head, the way she always did when she was struggling.

"It's funny, because I could have sworn I heard some fifth years grumbling about the pair of you kicking them out of their compartment..."

There was a long pause, in which I found myself smoothing my hands- carefully- over my hair and checking that there weren't any stains on my beloved Weird Sisters T-shirt.

"Fuck," Silkie muttered, "Fine, in you come."

She collapsed back on the seat beside me and crossed her arms over her chest in a massive huff. She scowled at Cedric as he made his way to sit opposite me, looking particularly amused.

"Cedric," I smiled at him as if I hadn't tried to set Silkie on him.

"Freya," he smiled crookedly back.

Silkie made another vomiting sound. I shot her a scathing look, though I wasn't particularly sure why. She held up her hands and then got up and strolled out of the compartment. Leaving Cedric and I alone.

"So..." I broke the awkward silence lamely, "how have you been?"

He nodded, "Great, thank you." He smirked a little and pointed at me, "How's your head?"

My eyes narrowed and I subconsciously lifted my fingers to the bump that had come up after the door incident. Of course, doing that brought attention to the several other bruises which permanently peppered my body, or in this instance my arm. I had fallen down the stairs the night before and it looked like someone had been taking hits at my arm with a Beater's bat.

"It's getting better," I said through gritted teeth.

"And your arm?" his eyes crinkled as he started to laugh at me.

"Oh this is nothing, you should have seen the other guy," I replied, completely dead pan. Cedric burst out laughing and I suddenly wished that I actually had a Beater's bat. Then we'd see who was laughing!

"Did you read th_e Prophet _this morning?" he asked, once he had recovered.

"Yes. Where on earth does Skeeter get her information? My dad's furious that there was a leak from within the Auror office," I spoke of Rita Skeeter's column in which she detailed the serious blunders being made about the investigation of the Death Eater attacks at the World Cup.

"A lot of Ministry officials are," Cedric said.

"It gives me the shivers to think that they're still out there," I admitted, goose pimples forming on my bruised arms.

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

We both cast our eyes to the ground. My memories of that night at the World Cup, when the attacks happened, were painful and tainted with the bitter taste of fear. In the time which had passed since that night, which felt like months and not days, I had tried to extract myself from those memories, become separate from them, in order to cope. But sitting on the train then, I was struck by just how much danger I had been in.

"That was the most frightening thing that's ever happened to me," I whispered, still not looking up.

"I know," Cedric replied softly.

He reached over and encased my small hand with his big one. He gently squeezed my fingers and I looked up and smiled a small smile at him. Oh hell, this was bad.

"I don't want...them to come back," I said in a little voice, feeling tears prick my eyes. I didn't have the mental strength to say 'Death Eaters' out loud, but I didn't need to.

"Neither do I, but I think we'll be okay," was his reassuring reply.

I loosened my hand from his grip and looked out the window once more.

"I hope you're right."

* * *

I have a love/hate relationship with feasts at Hogwarts. They are simultaneously angelic and sinful, chaste and evil. So much lovely food looking sumptuous and delicious and- let's just say when you catch sight of it, smelt a hint of that delicious scent, no matter how much you've said you'll hold back on gorging yourself you conveniently forget the pain that feasts cause. The bloatedness, the nausea, the inability to move. Sometimes I wonder, in hindsight, if it's actually worth it. But at the time, I'm like a girl possessed.

I was in considerable pain as the feast drew to a close that night. I'd eaten at least four platefuls, and heaped platefuls at that. My school robes felt snug and I was having difficulty maintaining any sort of posture. The chicken had been particularly good this year, and the potatoes, and the cheesecake and- I gagged a little and turned to look at Silkie who was scribbling on a scrap piece of parchment, her eyebrows furrowed together.

"_Fuck_," she was muttering, "_Fuck, fuck, fuck._"

Well, what was new?

"What's the matter?" I groaned, flopping my head against her shoulder.

"I just ate about 2000 calories," she whimpered, "That's a lot, Freya, especially on top of the pumpkin pasty I ate on the train, and the cooked breakfast my mum made this morning!"

"What about me?" was my grumbling reply, "I ate about twice as much as you."

"I know, I don't know how you manage it. You must have an elastic stomach or something," she commented.

The hall was descending into silence. Silkie turned to look around and I made an effort to lift my head, but it was in vain. I wanted nothing more than to crawl up the stairs and slide into my bed! Professor Dumbledore was talking, I knew that much, but my eyes glazed over and his words went in one ear and slid straight out the other. I couldn't tell you how long I zoned out for, but I only came around when there was a sudden outburst of gasps and cheers. Silkie gripped hold of my forearm and shook it excitedly.

"What's going on?" I asked, glancing around the room at the crazed students.

"The-Tri-Wizard-_Tournament!!_" Silkie gasped.

"But that was-"

"I know, I know, abolished, but it's back- they must be making it safer or something," Silkie muttered, "But Freya, don't you understand what this means? _Foreign boys! _How did you manage to miss that anyway?"

I shrugged, not wishing to tell her that the whole time I had been dreamily going through the less embarrassing points of my walk with Cedric. I mentally slapped myself in the face!

Silkie tittered away about the prospect of all those foreign boys, and panicked about the fact she only had two months to reinvent herself as some sort of sex-kitten attractive to French hotties- her words, not mine! I was only half-listening to her, and I got the impression that she was speaking more to herself than to me, but I was shocked back into attention when someone grabbed me from the crowd walking out of the Great Hall and tugged me to the side.

Three guesses who?

"Jesus, Cedric!" I gasped, "A little warning might have be nice!"

"Sorry, but I couldn't let you get away," he flashed that toothy smile at me and I couldn't help but stop being mad.

"Well, I forgive you- this time," I added, narrowing my eyes for effect.

"So...?" Cedric asked.

"So...?" I looked at him in confusion. He laughed at that, as if it were obvious.

"When can I see you again?"

He was staring straight into my eyes, giving me the full impact of his, and I suddenly realised why women used to faint all the time. I was struggling to maintain any kind of composure and I imagine my brain looked a little like candyfloss at that moment in time. I was such a cliché, but I couldn't help it.

"I don't know," I eventually managed, "We'll just have to wait and see."

And somehow I managed to turn away from him and get to the stairs without so much as tripping. Of course about halfway up the marble staircase I tripped and completely disappeared from his line of vision. That earned me a hearty snigger. But nothing was broken or twisted or sprained and I managed to get up and walk on without any other accidents.

I collapsed fully robed on my bed, when I finally got there. Silkie was lying with some mush on her face and two bits of cucumber over her eyes in the bed across from me.

"Where did you disappear to?" she asked, peeping out from under one slice of cucumber.

"Cedric caught up with me," I mumbled, turning over and pressing my face into my pillow.

"I thought as much," Silkie sounded smug, "So you like him then?"

I groaned and turned my face to the side, looking out of the window at the stars.

"Damn, I think I do."

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	8. Bells of All Shapes and Sizes

**A/N: **I don't even know how to explain the huge gap between updates. All I can say is hope you enjoy :-]

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Bells of All Shapes and Sizes**

At the beginning of sixth year Silkie and I sat down with our OWL results and chose our subjects together. Silkie's thinking behind taking the same subjects was that she could copy my homework and therefore still have a very, _very _active love life. Mine was that she would generally take the attention away from me and my constant falling, tripping, walking into things and knocking things over. It was mutually beneficial with the added bonus of the fact we pretty much only ever wanted to speak to each other anyway. The only problem, however, was that we could only match up four subjects- and one of those was Divination, which neither of us really wanted to take, but one of Silkie's older men told her he'd tutor her if she decided to take it- which really meant that they would spend time they should beusing to study rolling around in bed together. Divination was suddenly back on the cards. My Dad told me in no uncertain terms- and with a look to match- that any less than five subjects was not acceptable. And so Silkie and I came to terms with the fact that we could no longer always be together. She took Herbology and I took Ancient Runes. And that is why on the first Monday of classes I was walking out of a classroom alone.

"Freya!" A certain familiar voice called me to attention.

"Hi," I smiled awkwardly at Cedric, feeling a little bit pleased with myself about the night before,"Were you waiting for me?"

He nodded, his eyes all big and sparkling. Silkie had made me explain everything in detail, and then analysed it all with her powers of experience. And apparantly I had done something right! According to her, telling Cedric that he "would just have to wait and see" when he could see me again was exactly what I should have said. It was like getting a O in a test- something which didn't happen very often. Apparently it made me seem less into him- no, that phrase didn't work either- and kept him guessing about whether his chase was going to be successful. Sometimes I was glad I had Silkie, because I honestly had no idea what I was doing.

And sometimes I was certain she made it all up!

"How did you know where I'd be?" I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, already sure of the answer.

"Well, Silkie is in my Herbology class..."

Of course she was. For some reason she thought that having Cedric show an interest in me was a good thing. I, on the other hand, was still unconvinced about this.

"Hmm," was my only reply.

"Well I figured if you weren't going to tell me when I can see you again, then I would have to take any opportunity that I could get," he said, flashing the lop-sided, twinkly smile at me with full force, "plus somebody has to make sure you don't fall over and break any more bones on the way to Defence."

"That might not actually be a bad thing," I sighed.

"Come on then," he gestured in the direction we should be walking, "Don't want to be late."

I don't think he heard me mutter under my breath, "speak for yourself."

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts was not exactly my favourite subject, and this stemmed mostly from the fact that my defensive skills left a lot to be desired. I had scraped through my OWL by revising for the written exam until my mind felt like it was about to explode, and somehow managing to translate this into the practical exam. But without hours upon hours of study, it was as if there was a disconnection in my brain that just could not, for the life of it, understand the spells.

My dad had had a very long and stern talk with Silkie's father about the need for all wizards to have at least a NEWT level knowledge of defensive magic. "That need," he had said, "was even more necessary for witches. They are more vulnerable." Because of this both Silkie and I were told that dropping Defence Against the Dark Arts was absolutely forbidden. And as it turned out, we didn't have a whole lot of choice anyway.

Cedric and I were the last people to walk into the classroom, but the class hadn't yet settled anyway. Silkie waved at me from the second to back row, a knowing smile playing her lips. I grumbled at the sight of this. It wasn't until I reached her side that I realised Cedric had followed us. _Oh dear God,_ I thought, _he isn't going to sit next to us is he?_

"Here you go, Madame," Cedric said in a weirdly polite sales-wizard-esque voice, addressing Silkie, "One Freya Hamilton, uninjured, no new bruises, a very rare model."

I smacked him on the arm.

"Piss off," I hissed, but playfully, "Your girlfriend over there will cry if you give us any more attention."

We all looked over at Penny who was straining to see Cedric over the heads of some tall Gryffindor boys from her seat near the front of the class. Cedric chuckled.

"Well we can't have that now, can we?" said Silkie, making it clear that she would like to see nothing else than Penny sobbing and running from the class. I can't quite remember why the two of them hate each other so much. I think it was something about a Hufflepuff Quidditch player and a serious case of Silkie stealing him.

"What do you fine ladies have next?" he asked.

"Study," said Silkie, "so you can walk us back to the common room."

"Cool," Cedric smiled at me and walked off.

I turned around and looked at Silkie aghast. She smiled at me innocently. Before I could even start to vent at her the class went silent. I turned with Silkie to look at the door where our seventh Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher stood. And certainly this was the biggest shock we'd had yet. The new Professor looked like he had a _lot _of experience with defending himself against the dark arts. His skin was gnarled with old scar tissue, knotted and lumpy like the bark of a tree. He had only one leg, and his back was hunched over, his spine curled and bumped like his skin. And then there was the eye. He had obviously lost one of his own, natural eyes, as in its place was a larger one which operated free of its counterpart, rolling around, looking around the classroom, and then swinging around and looking into the back of his head. Silkie and I turned back around with a shudder.

The Professor hobbled to the front of the class and picked up a piece of chalk and started scribbling on the blackboard.

"I am Professor Alister Mudie," he spoke with a voice about as soft as gritty gravel, "Ex-Auror and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

The name sparked something in my memory.

"Did he say ex-auror?" I whispered to Silkie.

"I think so..."

"Oh God, my dad is not going to be happy when he hears about this," I grumbled.

I could remember the problems the Ministry had had with Professor Mudie. He was paranoid since the war, and had slowly changed from the Ministry's secret weapon to the bane of their lives. He had never seen eye to eye with my father, and I was sure Charles Hamilton would have something to say about-

"Ow!" I shouted as something hard hit me square in the chest and threw me over the back of my seat.

"Despicable," Mudies voice grumbled, "Second year NEWT and can't even block a simple spell."

I dragged myself off of the ground and stared at him incredulously, rubbing my chest.

"See that next time I do that, you manage to block it, Miss...?"

"Hamilton," I replied, sitting back down and glowering at him, trying to ignore Silkie's muffled laughter beside me.

"I should have guessed as much," was Mudie's reply. There was another thump, and I turned to my side to see Silkie slumped against the desk beside me. I pressed my lips together to stop my giggles making themselves known. She tossed her thick, dark brown locks from her face to reveal a particuarly unamused expression.

"That should teach you to laugh at a lack of defensive skill!"Mudie told her as she climbed back up to the seat, "Now on with the class."

"_Fuck!" _She whispered.

"Yeah," I replied, "That pretty much sums it up."

* * *

Cedric laughed all the was from DADA to the entrance to the Ravenclaw Common Room. Silkie was still rubbing her chest, and I got the feeling that she was making a bigger fuss than was strictly necessary. Either that or she just wasn't as used to pain and bruising as I was. She barked an answer to the door's question and began clambering through the opening.

"After you," said Cedric.

"You aren't coming in," I replied, "I've been laughed at quite enough for one day."

"After me, then," he decided, and clambered after Silkie.

I reluctantly followed, thinking wistfully of the quiet, laughter free Library. When I stumbled into the Common Room Cedric was already sitting in an arm chair beside the sofa which was silkie and I's favourite. Other people, idiots mostly, sometimes liked to try and sit there, but Silkie dealt with them swiftly. She had a way of making her rudeness seem like common sense, though- to the point that people looked ashamed and apologized to her. Sometimes it's good to have a friend like Silkie.

I slumped into the seat beside her.

"This came for you," she said, brandishing a letter at me, her face hidden by her _Witch Weekly_.

I opened what I expected to be an extention of the lecture my father had given my about the importance of 7th year. I was wrong, it was Chelsea's neat and fluid script in front of me.

It read

_Dear Freya,_

_I hope you are well and that your first lessons of the year were enjoyable. Remember and cherish this last year of school, and try and join some clubs as it looks very good on your resume later in life._

_I am writing to you with very, very exciting news. Last night, which was incidentally Giles and I's two year anniversary, we were out for dinner in London, and you'll never guess what?_

I rolled my eyes. My sister was never very swift at getting to the point. She seemed to enjoy the flourish.

_Giles proposed! Can you believe it? I can't! We already set a date and everything- because now we are engaged, what's the point in waiting? Or at least that is the point mother made when we went to see her afterwards. Apparently Giles asked for Daddy's permission and everything! Oh I am so happy!  
_

_You'll be my chief bridesmaid, of course, so you will need to meet me in Hogsmeade in two weeks- as I know this is the date of your first Hogsmeade weekend- to get fitted for your bridesmaids dress. I have narrowed it down to two options so mother and I are going to finish deciding tomorrow. _

_I will send you a picture before the fitting so you can get just as excited as I am._

_See you in two weeks,_

_Lots of Love,  
Chelsea x_

I handed it to Silkie. And then the sniggering started.


End file.
